Medicine Man. Cheryl Reavis

since he’s learned to make armpit noises.”

      He grinned—something Arley decided he should definitely do more often.

      “Good for him,” he said. “Is he here tonight?”

      “No, he and the rest of the cousins are having their own wild party—pizza and video games and wedding cake with the great-aunts. I think he’d rather be elsewhere. Tonight’s our regular fast food and movie rental night. So where are you from?”

      There was a lull in the music, leaving a strange gap in the din around them.

      “Arizona. Window Rock. The Navajo Reservation.”

      “So you’re…Navajo?”

      “Half,” he said. “My birth mother is one of The People.”

      “Your birth mother?” she asked, but he didn’t respond to her clear invitation to elaborate.

      “You were brought up with…‘The People,’ I take it,” she said, deciding to respect his reticence. She had plenty of things she didn’t want to talk about, either.

      “With. By. For,” he said.

      “And your father—what was he?” she asked, without considering whether it was polite to do so. She wanted to know, and she had earned her “Arley the Handful” title as much from being curious as from being reckless.

      The band started up again, as lively as ever.

      “A Tar Heel,” he said over the racket. “Full-blooded.”

      She smiled, appreciating his reference to his father having been born in North Carolina.

      “Is he from around here?”

      “Not exactly,” he said.

      “What does that mean?”

      “He…died when I was three. I don’t know much about him, actually.”

      “Oh. I’m sorry. Well, you can always kill two birds with one stone,” she said, and he gave her a puzzled look.

      The noise escalated, and she leaned closer to explain.

      “If I’d joined the army to see the world…” she began, trying to make herself heard over the drumbeats.

      “I think that’s the navy,” he interrupted.

      “Whatever. If I’d joined the army to see the world and I’d ended up in the state where my long lost father had lived, I’d probably try to check it out. Especially if I didn’t know much about him. Two birds. See?”

      He didn’t say whether he did or didn’t. The music suddenly softened, enough so she didn’t need to yell anymore.

      “Was it hard to get sent to Fort Bragg?” she asked, disregarding his lack of enthusiasm for her opinion that he might find a personal advantage to being posted here.

      “Well, it took a certain amount of jumping out of high-and low-flying aircraft.”

      “I’ll bet—”

      “Who’s this?” a man’s voice said behind her, and Arley froze. She had no doubt that the question was meant for her.

      “Will Baron—coworker of the bride,” Will said easily, extending his hand to her ex-husband, someone who was not supposed to be here.

      “Scott McGowan,” Scott said pointedly. “So just how do you know him?” he asked Arley, ignoring Will’s outstretched hand.

      Arley forced herself to look at him—and didn’t answer. She knew he’d take offense at whatever comment she made, and she wasn’t about to let him cause a scene in the middle of Kate’s reception. She glanced past him at the guests. She couldn’t see any of her sisters.

      “I asked you a question, Arley,” Scott said, his voice deceptively calm. She didn’t miss the menace behind the remark, the subtle threat of consequences, and, neither, she thought, did Will Baron.

      “So you did, Scott,” she said agreeably. She smiled and didn’t continue. He didn’t appreciate it.

      “Let’s go outside—now,” he said. He reached to take her arm, and she jerked back. Will moved, putting himself between her and Scott, close enough to keep Scott at bay and still leave room for him to back down—if he had enough sense.

      “Do you want to go with him?” Will asked her.

      “No,” Arley said, hating that she couldn’t keep her voice steady.

      “That’s good enough for me,” Will said. “For them, too,” he added, nodding toward the nearby group of paratroopers, who were already on the alert and looking in their direction.

      Will and Scott stared at each other.

      “Excuse me,” Arley said abruptly. “It was interesting talking to you, Specialist,” she said to Will. Then she did what she did best—walked off and left the mess she had created.

      “Arley! What do you want from me?” Scott called after her, as if she were the unreasonable one.

      Nothing, she thought. And that in itself was a revelation. She didn’t want, didn’t need, anything from him anymore.

      She kept walking, dodging the dancers, knowing Scott was likely following her. He didn’t give up easily. The real question was, what did he want?

      She could see Uncle Patrick working hard behind the crowded bar, and she headed in that direction.

      “Ah! Reinforcements!” he said when he saw her. “Find yourself an apron, darlin’. I need another pair of hands.”

      Arley slipped behind the bar. Her knees were shaking as she found an apron and managed to wrap it around herself, taking her place next to her uncle, rushing to fill mug after mug with beer.

      “Steady now,” Uncle Patrick said quietly. “Scottie is safe with the aunts and he-who-shall-not-be-named has taken himself out the door.”

      When she finally got the nerve to look up, she didn’t see Scott anywhere. She didn’t see Will Baron, either.

      She bowed her head again and filled another mug. So much for getting out and having a good time.

      “What was that all about?”

      Will glanced at Specialist Bernie Copus and considered his options. He could answer the question now and get it over with, or he could answer it any one of the thousands of times Copus would ask for the rest of their natural lives.

      “I thought you were going to clean that young man’s clock for him,” Copus said. He grinned, showing the gap between his front teeth, a feature women found irresistible.

      Or so he said.

      “I don’t know what it was about,” Will said, hoping the truth would bring an end to the interrogation. All he had understood of the situation was that Arley Meehan had been afraid.

      “Listen to your old Uncle Bernie, now. I have to admit the former Mrs. McGowan is a good-looking woman—a good-looking woman. But, you’re not wanting to go there, son, believe me. You’re not wanting to get between the McGowan heir and something he prizes. No sirree.”

      “Copus, I’m not—”

      “No, now, I am serious, William. I know how this thing works.”

      “And how is that?”

      “You are in the military. He is in the money. His family owns the whole damn world. What do you own?”

      “Not much,” Will said.

      “Well, there you go. Need I say more?”

      “I hope not.”

      Copus grinned, showing his gap again. “I’m just trying to help you out, son.”

      “Yeah,